


back in business

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6966799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, if you’re watching close, you can see his grin collapse before it remakes itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back in business

They didn’t ask him first, is the thing. Like, far be it for Robbie to tell any member of management how to do their job, especially Barrett Rutledge, who had two Cup rings by the time Robbie was in diapers, has probably forgotten more about hockey than Robbie ever learned. And like, Robbie knows the Cup timeline for a fact, because Rutledge’s got two kids who hit the NHL themselves, one Robbie’s age, and he had it on Georgie’s authority that there isn’t a single guy who’s played for Team USA that’s ever letting Eric Rutledge forget that he shit his diaper in the Stanley Fucking Cup. Fucking blasphemy.

So like, Rutledge is a legend, he’s a smart as hell guy, and he basically singlehandedly turned around the Caps in the past five years. He also took a chance and signed Robbie as an UFA based on his play, when everyone else pulled a ‘but you weren’t _drafted_ , Roberto’. Robbie respects the shit out of him.

He really should have asked.

Robbie gets it, he does. Obviously Rutledge knows how well Robbie played with Georgie, considering it was that play that lead to the Caps picking him up. He hears that Georgie’s up for grabs, he thinks ‘hey, Dineen plays great with Lombardi and he’s cheap as hell right now’, he makes a deal. Done and done, another great move by Rutledge.

Except like, if Rutledge had asked, Robbie would have told him not to. He’s not sure how he would have phrased it, like, obviously not ‘Yeah we played great together and also were kind of a thing off the ice until he fucked around on me with a fucking chick at least one time I know of, so. Maybe don’t do that.’ He’s sure he’d have thought of something. 

Rutledge doesn’t let him know before the deal goes through, isn’t even the first to let him know after. Maybe he meant to, but there was a kid’s charity skate thing that Chaps and him got the short stick on — like, Robbie’s not complaining, he likes kids, but Chaps looks _terrified_ the whole time. There’s some local media, probably for like a thirty second heartwarming thing, their Caps camera guy, putting something together, all ‘Look what David Chapman already means to this city!’, judging by the way things have gone lately. Again, Robbie doesn’t mind, again, Chapman looks shit scared about being followed by cameras all the time. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, but Robbie feels for the guy, because he clearly hates it.

Robbie doesn’t know why some local guy even knows Robbie played at BU before he signed with the Caps, let alone that he played with Georgie, but he guesses google’s a thing, so Robbie’s minding his own business, making faces at kids and shit, getting some pretty excellent faces in return, when it’s the fucking media that breaks the trade to him.

He gets gestured at, skates over after making sure Chaps has the kids corralled, a little startled when he gets a mic shoved in his face. Chapman’s a bit more of a draw for them, but the gesture was undeniably to him. “Have you heard?”, he’s asked.

It’s kind of a weird way to start an interview, but Robbie pastes his best interview grin on anyway. “Heard what?” he asks.

“Looks like that BU D-pair is back in business,” the guy says, and Robbie doesn’t parse it right away. It doesn’t make any sense in his head until it does.

The thing is, if you’re watching close, you can see his grin collapse before it remakes itself. There’s a bit on the local news that evening, just that thirty seconds he figured, focused on Chapman with the kids, a longer video on their site, which has them breaking the news to Robbie. Robbie watches the footage three times that night, wonders how anyone could miss the way his stomach drops out from under him when he hears it. Wonders if Georgie saw it. Kind of hopes he did. Georgie always knew his expressions real well, he’d know exactly what Robbie was thinking before he said a fucking thing. He’d know he wasn’t welcome.

Not that either of them have a fucking choice in the matter. Robbie can’t blame Georgie for this, knows Georgie has no more say in it than he does, and honestly, that makes it fucking worse, because blaming Georgie is something he’s got practice in. Something that makes shit a whole lot easier.

“Roberto,” his mother says, on the phone that night, soft in a way Robbie hates, because it makes him feel small, makes him want to head back to Boston, climb into his old bed, over the worn thin Bruins sheets his father won’t let him throw out, under the plaid comforter. It’s a hideous fucking eyesore room and it’s home and he wants it right now.

“Don’t,” Robbie says. “I’m fine about it.”

“You’re fine about it,” his mother repeats, flat enough that he can hear exactly how ridiculous he sounds.

“Yep,” Robbie says, doubles down, because why the fuck not, at this point? Say you’re fine enough you become it. Fake it ‘til you make it.

“Roberto,” his mother says, tone changing.

“Mamma,” Robbie says.

“Fine,” she says. “Call me if you need me.”

“I won’t,” he says, then wincing at how that sounds, “I mean—”

“I know,” she says. “Call me even if you don’t, okay?”

“Okay,” Robbie says.

*

Robbie doesn’t know if the coaches are going to try to push the Dineen-Hearst thing when the season starts, but Georgie’s basically decided Robbie’s going to be his D-partner, and like. That he’s also going to hang around Robbie all the time. Robbie is…not minding that.

They’re both in the same hall, Robbie on the fourth floor, Georgie on the tenth, and Robbie doesn’t know if the Terriers pulled some strings or they both got really fucking lucky, but they both have one of the coveted singles. Probably pulled strings. ‘Can’t have our boys less game ready because of some psycho roommate’, etc. Obviously Robbie isn’t going to complain, even if his dorm room is like…maybe a third the size of his bedroom at home and also he thinks his mattress is made of foam or something, it’s shit. 

“My feet dangle over the end if I stretch out,” Georgie says tragically when Robbie’s bitching about it over breakfast, because his back is screaming at him right now.

“Okay, giant, you win,” Robbie says. Honestly, he barely fits, and Georgie’s got five inches on him.

“Let’s go shopping,” Georgie says.

Robbie gives him a skeptical look. “Shopping,” he repeats, flatly.

“Yeah,” Georgie says. “For mattress toppers. I think my mom would count that as something worth the emergency credit card.”

“The fuck are mattress toppers?” Robbie asks.

“Go over your mattress, make it more comfortable,” Georgie says.

“You’re a genius,” Robbie says.

“I try,” Georgie says. “Shopping?”

They’ve got two days until classes start, and Robbie picked up all his books with his parents weeks ago except for one that wasn’t in yet. “If you’re okay with hitting the bookstore with me, I don’t have my Economics shit yet.”

Georgie makes a face. “It’s going to be a fucking mobscene,” he says, but then immediately follows up with, “Okay.”

“Party tonight at Lee’s,” Georgie says, when they’re finally out of the bookstore, which was a fucking mobscene, just like Georgie said it would be. Georgie went on a coffee run while Robbie waited in the line that never ended, so Robbie comes out to coffee and a danish Georgie splits with him. Robbie’s going to bring Georgie every time he needs to buy shit if it means free baked goods.

“Lee?” Robbie asks.

“Right winger?” Georgie says. Robbie shrugs. “The tiny one?”

If he’s who Robbie thinks he is, he’s like maybe an inch shorter than Robbie. “Hey,” Robbie complains.

“You’re just little,” Georgie says.

“Asshole,” Robbie says.

“A bunch of Terriers are going,” Georgie says. “You in?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Robbie says.

“What do you drink?” Georgie asks. “It’s bring your own shit and Braden said he’d pick me up something. I can ask him to grab whatever for you.”

“Whatever you’re drinking,” Robbie says with a shrug. “Might as well make it easy for him.”

Lee’s got a place off campus. Robbie doesn’t know if that’s possible with the whole room and board thing or if he doesn’t have full scholarship or what, but he’s got this four bedroom place with three other guys. Robbie thinks it probably looks bigger when it’s not full to the fucking brim with people. Like, this is bookstore mobscene level.

“I’m going to find Braden,” Georgie says, touching Robbie’s elbow to get his attention, half shouting so Robbie can hear him. The music’s cranked up, and it’s only ten, but if this keeps up Robbie has no idea how they don’t get cited for a noise violation. Maybe it’s different, down here, maybe they’re surrounded by other students who don’t care, Robbie doesn’t know, just knows he had to do his share of ducking and running in high school for that exact reason. 

Georgie comes back with Braden in tow surprisingly quickly, a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand. Robbie doesn’t like bourbon much, but he told Georgie to get whatever, so it’s not like he can complain. “I bought Sprite too in case you don’t want to drink that shit straight,” Braden says, and Robbie’s barely spoken to the guy before, but he basically loves him.  
“How much I owe you?” Georgie asks.

Robbie reaches for his wallet before Braden’s finished saying ‘twenty-five covers it’. “I got this, dude,” he says. “You bought me coffee.”

“Kind of not the same thing,” Georgie says.

Robbie shrugs. “You buy next time,” he says, and slaps a ten and a twenty in Braden’s hand.

“You don’t have a five?” Braden says.

“Call it a tip,” Robbie says.

“Cool,” Braden says. “The Sprite’s back with the guys if you two want it.”

‘The guys’ ends up mostly consisting of Terriers, along with a few people Robbie doesn’t recognize. They greet them enthusiastically, though Robbie thinks that’s more for Georgie than him, not that it matters. Robbie’s only seen these guys at the camp, and he’s nailed down a lot of names but not all of them, unlike Georgie, who seems to already know everyone and obviously has been in touch with guys, since he knew about the party and got Braden to go on a booze run for him. 

Georgie finds the Sprite and some Solo Cups, pours Robbie a generous measure of whiskey, just enough Sprite to dull it, add enough carbonation that it’s like soda gone mostly flat, kind of unpleasant, but whatever, it’s not like they’re drinking it for the taste. 

Robbie grabs a seat beside Edmunds, who is protectively curled around a bottle of tequila all his own, which is like. Typical goalie shit, right there. 

“Afraid someone’s going to snatch it from you?” Robbie asks.

“Don’t trust these fuckers,” Edmunds says.

“Okay, serious question for you,” Robbie says. “Do I call you Eddie Edmunds, or what?” He has no fucking clue what kind of sadist parents would name their kid Edward Edmunds and expect that to go okay.

“If you want to die,” Edmunds says, without blinking. 

Fucking _goalies_ , man.

“Eddie Edmunds it is,” Robbie says, and Edmunds lets go of his protective huddle around the bottle so he can whack Robbie in the knuckles with it, which fucking _hurts_ , but hey, Robbie was kind of asking for it there.

Edmunds is in his senior year, so despite the weird goalieness, he’s got a pretty good perspective on shit and doesn’t seem to mind Robbie grilling him on how the season’s going to go once they get underway, or general school shit either, just sips at his tequila — Robbie’s super impressed at the fact he’s willing to drink it straight and also how fucking fast it’s going, Edmunds is tall but he’s goalie skinny — and answers Robbie’s questions. Georgie interrupts once to top Robbie up, but he’s gone when Edmunds hauls himself up to go to the bathroom, says, very seriously “I am trusting you with this,” and then hands the bottle of tequila to Robbie, which makes Robbie kind of feel touched and also kind of want to laugh. He’ll make sure to take care of it, though. Even if he liked tequila he wouldn’t touch it, getting on your goalie’s bad side is fucking stupid.

“Where’d Georgie go?” Robbie asks — he thinks his name is Fritz, but that might just be Robbie blanking and clutching at a German name. Fritz — or whatever, Robbie should find out but he’ll ask Georgie instead of admitting to Fritz-or-not that he doesn’t know his name — tilts his head across the room, where Georgie’s talking to a girl like a foot shorter than him. They’re standing close, Georgie’s fingers loosely spread over her side, and Robbie doesn’t know how long Georgie’s been gone, but it definitely wasn’t more than twenty minutes.

“He works fast,” Robbie says.

“He doesn’t have to work at all,” Braden mutters.

That…kind of seems to be the case, because by the time Edmunds gets back from the bathroom and takes the bottle back from Robbie with a suspicious glance at the contents and then an appreciative nod, Georgie and the girl have already slipped away. Robbie looks at the doorway they left through, wonders if he’s going to have to make his way back to campus, kind of annoyed about it, when Edmunds nudges him with the bottle.

“Want some tequila?” he asks, and Robbie doesn’t, particularly, but he thinks this is probably supposed to be a bonding thing, and the bottle of Sprite’s within reach to chase it, so he shrugs, nods. 

He’s passed the bottle back and forth with Edmunds a bit, gone back to bourbon because he’s started feeling kind of hazy and he doesn’t like the taste of whisky but it doesn’t hit him like tequila does, when Georgie leans over him, liberates the bottle of Jim Beam.

“Thought you went off to get laid,” Robbie says a little muzzily.

“Yeah, like half an hour ago,” Georgie says. 

“Shit, you fuck her in Lee’s room?” Braden asks. “Because he will for real kill you.”

Georgie shrugs. “Don’t think it was his, it had soccer shit on the walls.”

“Thought you abandoned me,” Robbie says. 

“Nah,” Georgie says, then nudges Robbie in the side. “Scoot over, man, make room.”

Robbie does, pushing Edmunds, who eyes him and looks like he’s maybe not planning on moving before he sighs and scoots. Georgie’s got a mark on his neck, and Robbie pokes at it.

“How’s that work?” Robbie asks. “Fucking someone that much shorter than you?”

“You’re plastered, huh?” Georgie asks.

“No,” Robbie says.

“Yes,” Braden and Edmunds both say, and Robbie glares at them.

“Kay, let’s get you home, dude,” Georgie says.

“I’m good,” Robbie says, but doesn’t protest when Georgie puts a cap on the half empty bottle of whiskey, tucking it under one arm and offering Robbie a hand. Robbie’s probably not helping as much as he could, but Georgie hauls him up anyway, because like. He’s super strong. Maybe that’s how you can fuck someone that much smaller without like…trying to play tetris with body parts or some shit, just lift ‘em up and go.

“Yep, we are going home,” Georgie says, slinging an arm around Robbie’s shoulders, and when Robbie smiles at him he grins right back.


End file.
